Martin The Warrior Part 8

"Like what, for instance?" Hisk curled his lip contemptuously.

"Like the three prisoners in your pit, for instance. They're not there any more. They've escaped."

Hisk spun Druwp around to face him. "You're lying. n.o.beast could escape the prison pit!"

Druwp let a sly smile cross his lips. "Then go and see for yourself. If I'm lying, you can always kill me later. I'm not going anywhere."

Hisk grabbed Druwp by the neckfur and held the knife to his throat. "Then I'll go and see for myself. If you're lying, I'll come back and kill you. Skalrag won't 84.

save you-or didn't you know, he's been missing since last night."

Badrang was on the walltop when Hisk sidled up and whispered in the Tyrant's ear, "The three beasts we had in the prison pit are gone."

Badrang narrowed his eyes. "Gone? What d'you mean? They've died or been killed?"

"No, Sire, they've escaped."

"Rubbish, n.o.beast escapes my prison pit."

"That's what I thought, Sire, but they're gone sure enough. I went down and checked myself. The strange thing is that there's no sign of escape. The grating was locked tight and the pit was secure."

"How did you find out they were gone?"

"A bankvole slave, name of Druwp, told me. Said he was Skalrag's spy."

Badrang toyed with a lethal-looking dagger, tapping it against his teeth. "Hmm, he may be useful to us. Have him brought to my longhouse tomorrow. Make sure none of the other slaves know."

A cry rang up from the sh.o.r.e. "Badrang, ole messmate! Sing out, 'ave you 'ad enough?"

"Is that you, Clogg, me 'earty?" The Tyrant smiled thinly as he slipped back into the old corsair language. "I'm the one should be askin' you that question. I've burned yer s.h.i.+p, stoved in yer boats an' left you with nought but the sea behind yer and me wid me fortress an' me horde in front of yer. What d'ye say t' that?"

Cap'n Clogg's irrepressible laughter rang out of the darkness. "Haharr harr! But yer a few beasts short. My bullies slew a good number o' yours, an' I've got yer ole messmate Skalrag, trussed up like a fowl ready fer the pot. Oh, and some of yer darlin' liddle slaves 'ave escaped. Did ye know that?"

Badrang tapped the dagger against his teeth before he replied. "Out wid it, Tramun. Wot d'ye want?"

"A truce an' a parley wid me ole one-time s.h.i.+pmate."

85.

"Oho, there's a change of tune for yer. Why should I parley wid the likes of you, yer great plaited seaswab?"

"Cos iffen yer don't, I'll lay long siege to yer great palace. It don't cost nothin' to camp right 'ere on yer doorstep an' fish yer waters, an' plunder yer fields. Me an' my buckoes ain't goin' noplace. I could keep a war goin' until yore dim in the eye, long in the seasons an' white in the beard. Then you won't get no fancy empire built, an' sooner or later yer horde'll starve. So be a good cove an' parley wid me."

Badrang considered the offer for a moment. "Give me until mornin' to think about it, Tramun. Meanwhiles, 'ow about you returnin' Skalrag as a sign o' good faith?"

"Haharrharrharr! You allus was a canny one, matey. So be it, then. Open yer gates an' we'll let the fox go."

Now it was Badrang's turn to chuckle. "The gates stays shut an' locked. You ain't goin' to get 'em open with a batterin' ram or a fox. I'll 'ave some o' my beasts let down a basket on a rope, and we'll hoist Skalrag in wid that."

"Hoho, ain't you the suspicious one, an' me comin' 'ere in all good faith. Righto mate, we'll play yer liddle game. Boggs, Growch! Loose the fox an' point 'im 'ome-wards. Good night to ye, Badrang, an' may the sunny seasons hover round yer bunk."

Badrang sheathed his dagger. "An' good night to you, Tramun. May the gentle breezes allus fill yer sails wid the scent of southern roses."

An hour later, Badrang had Skalrag on the torture rack extracting information from him.

Brome and Felldoh got on all fours and kissed the damp sands several times. It was sweet to be on land, whether damp or dry.

The squirrel took stock of their position. "I know exactly where we are, Brome. You see all this charcoal on the tideline?"

86.

Brome's paws crunched on the stuff as he bent in the darkness and picked up a piece.

"Hmm, it's burnt wood, half waterlogged. Wonder where it's from?"

Felldoh pointed out into the bay. "Right there, mate, where the corsair s.h.i.+p burned and sank. Over yon hills lies Fortress Marshank, so we'd best go quietly."

Brome grasped Felldoh's paw firmly. "Where you go I go, mate. By the way, where are we going?"

"To Noonvale, eventually. But first we must look for our friends. We'll find somewhere to hide up for a bit and dry out. Then we'll see if we can lay our paws on some food. We can't do a thing until it's light, except rest and eat."

They walked south across the beach, towards the cliffs. Brome chattered incessantly.

"Rest and eat, that sounds like a good idea. I'll bet an acorn to an eggsh.e.l.l that's exactly what Rose and Martin are doing right now, lying back and feeding their faces. Grumm'll be doing the cooking. Next to my mama, he's the best cook in Noonvale, once he starts stirring stew or soup with that little ladle he always carries. Mmmm! It smells so good. Why, I'll even bet that he's found so-"

"Hush, Brome. What's that sound?"

The squirrel had clamped a swift paw across his garrulous young friend's mouth. Both creatures stood stock still, listening. The sound carried on the night breeze. Instruments were playing and somebeast was singing. Brome pointed to a faint glow emanating from a crevice in the cliff face. When they were closer, the friends both bellied down and crawled the rest of the way cautiously.

It was a type of lean-to tent, erected between a two-wheeled wagon and some rocks. A fire glimmered, throwing the creatures inside into grotesque silhouetted shadows against the canvas. Brome and Felldoh lay in the darkness listening to the song.

87.

"Oh, we're the Rambling Rosehip Players, And we please both old and young.

O'er field serene and forest green Our praises have been sung.

We're the Rambling Rosehip Players, And we'll take on any part, Bring a tear to your eye to make you cry Or joy to the saddest heart.

Though the road be tough and the patch run rough And weather be cold or grey, With a smile and a song we'll travel along On our Rambling Rosehip way. Hey!"

A heavy voice boomed out as the song finished "No, no! Ballaw, you're supposed to catch Celandine as the last line is sung. You did it far too early and she wasn't there to take the fan from Gauchee. It's not good enough. Let's try it again from the beginning. One, two, Ooooh, we're the Ram... Ballaw! Will you stop eating that pastie and take up your position. Here, give me that confounded thing. You've had quite enough!"

A half-eaten mushroom pastie was flung from the lean-to and struck Felldoh squarely between his ears. The pastie was followed by a hare, who dived on it, jumping on Felldoh's head in the process.

"Bad form that, chuckin' a chap's supper about, Rowan. Hey there! There's a bally squirrel here, tryin' to use me pastie as a hat!"

Confusion followed. Brome leaped on the hare, trying to wrest him off Felldoh. The squirrel was hanging gamely on to the hare's whiskers, trying to avoid the long flailing legs. Mice, a mole and two squirrels came pouring out of the lean-to, tripping and falling into the confusion of paws, legs, ears and tails. Pandemonium reigned as the jumble of creatures squeaked, grunted and howled. Felldoh was a seasoned fighter. Scrambling from under the others, he climbed to the top of the heap, about to set his teeth into the tail of whoever was headlocking Brome.

"Here, what's all this about? Come out of it this instant!" Felldoh was swung aloft by a ma.s.sive paw to find himself staring into the stern dark eyes of a big old female badger. She growled fiercely at him.

"Clamp those lips and put those teeth out of sight, otherwise I'll do a bit of biting-and I've got bigger teeth than you!"

With her other paw, the badger cuffed out, sending creatures rolling this way and that. Catching sight of Brome, she hoisted him high off the ground in her other paw and shook him.

"Behave yourself, you little wretch! What's your names, both of you, and what're you doing hanging around our camp?"

Felldoh reached between his ears. Disentangling a bit of pastie, he tasted it and nodded approvingly. "Hmm, mushroom pastie. Wait, don't tell me, it's been fried with spring onion gravy. Very nice!"

The hare picked up the remains of the pastie from the ground. Wiping it off, he ate it, speaking through mouthfuls.

"If y' wanted some of our tucker, old lad, you should knock on the wagon an' ask politely, wot? 'Stead of sneakin' round."

Brome waggled his paws indignantly from his position in the air. "We weren't sneaking around, we saw your firelight and heard you singing so we came over to investigate. Oh, by the way, I'm Brome, only son of Urran Voh, and this is Felldoh, late of Marshank. h.e.l.lo!"

The badger set them gently down as the hare made a very elegant leg. "Pleased t' meetcher, I'm sure. Allow me to introduce us. We, sirs, are the Rambling Rosehip Players. I am Ballaw De Quincewold, actor and tragedian. My large friend here is Rowanoak. She is our cart puller, props mistress and princ.i.p.al baritoness. The two young squirrelmaids there are Trefoil and Celan- 89.

dine, soubrettes, sopranos and acrobats. The mole Buckler is our juvenile lead, comedian and catcher. The two mousemaids, Gauchee and Kastern, are balancers, chorus and general company cooks. There you have it, m' friends. Er, would you like supper?"

Brome pulled at his slack belt. "Indeed we would, sir. My backbone was just talking to my stomach about food. They tend to stick together when I'm hungry."

The hare nodded admiringly, his floppy ears waving to and fro. "Well said, young feller. A creature of infinite jest, wot?"

Inside the lean-to it was snug and warm after the stiff night breeze on the sh.o.r.e. The Rambling Rosehip company were kindness itself to Felldoh and Brome. They were given cloths to dry off their sea-damped fur as they sat round the fire sipping carrot and celery broth from scallop sh.e.l.ls. Rowanoak brought out two tunics similar to the ones the rest of the Rosehips wore, quartered gold and crimson with a green border and black tie belt.

"Here, you'd best put these on, though I'll have to let yours out a touch when I have time, Felldoh. You're quite a st.u.r.dy sort for a squirrel."

Celandine stroked Felldoh's strong bushy tail. "Hmm, I'll say you are!"

Felldoh coughed nervously and accepted a hot mushroom pastie from Buckler. The friendly mole pa.s.sed Brome a sizeable wedge of pie.

"Yurr, maister. 'Unny an' blackb'rry. Speck you loik summat sweet."

The young mouse took a bite and rolled his eyes. "Mmm, do I ever. Sweet things are good for the voice, you know."

Gauchee was nibbling an apple and a carrot together. "Are they? I never knew that. I only eat apple 'n' carrot myself. Do you sing much, Brome?"

Without warning, Brome let forth a swift yodel with 90.

his piercing tenor voice. "Tralalalalalalarrr! Do I indeed! Try and stop me, Gauchee."

Ballaw picked up a small harecordion and tuned it. "Good f you, young feller. D'you know the Bobble O riddle song?"

Brome winked. "You play it and I'll sing it." Ballaw played the introduction and Brome began singing, with Rowanoak providing a fine baritone harmony line. It was so catchy that the entire company, even Felldoh, clapped their paws in time with the lively melody.

"Bobble O Bobble O Bobble O, If you know, tell me where I do grow.

High above the lowly earth, And yet I flourish for all I'm worth.

Bobble O Bobble O Bobble O, Tell me now if you think you know.

I hang between the earth and sky, Green or brown as the seasons pa.s.s by As around me all the birds do fly, and just before winter away go I.

Bobble O Bobble O Bobble O-ohhhh Tell me true, I'd like you to try!"

There was long applause and Brome had his back patted so heartily it began to ache.

"Excellent, top hole, young un!"

"You'm gorra foin voice, zurr Broom!"

"Oh, it was the best I've ever heard. You never missed a beat!"

"Well done. I wish we had a tenor who could sing half as good!"

Felldoh scratched his head. "What was it?"

Brome took a bite of his pie. "What was what?"

"The thing in the riddle song, green, brown, growing in the sky and then flying away before winter with the birds. What was it?"

91.

Ballaw nodded towards Brome. "That's for the singer to tell old lad."

Brome winked at Felldoh. "What else could it be but a leaf?"

Rowanoak sat down between the two friends. "Now, tell me about yourselves. Where are you from and how did you come to this place?"

Outside, the wind whistled across the bleak Northeast Sea. The rain had stopped and a quarter-moon showed between the scudding night cloud formations, throwing down a moving pattern of dark and silver across the sh.o.r.e. Snug in the crevice of the lowering cliffs the company crouched in their makes.h.i.+ft tent. Inside the lean-to, Felldoh and Brome sat around the fire, eating and drinking as they related their story to the new-found friends they had made, the Rambling Rosehip Players.

92.

11.

When the rain stopped, Martin felt his footpaws touching solid ground beneath the water. He stood upright with the sea lapping his neck, shaking Rose and Grumm, who had both fallen asleep.

"Land. We've made it. Help me push this oar ash.o.r.e."

Hardly feeling the wood of the paddle, their bodies numbed from constant immersion in cold sea water, the three friends crawled out onto a sandy beach situated at the foot of high dark cliff formations. They sat on the sand, s.h.i.+vering and hungry, their teeth chattering and paws trembling uncontrollably.

Through salt-bleared eyes Grumm peered up at the cliffs. "Wunner wot be up thurr?"

Martin rose stiffly, ma.s.saging his limbs. "Some small cave where we can shelter for the night, I hope. Do you two want to rest here while I take a look?"

Rose and Grumm staggered on to their paws.

"I don't like it here. Grumm and I will go with you."