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"Looks nice, don't it, Rock'ead? But yew won't be seein' none of it, 'til ya learns some sense, or starves t'death. Makes no diff'rence t'me, 'tis yore choice."
Vizka Longtooth leaned on the tiller, waiting until all his crew had arrived. The deck was jam-packed with vermin of all types, eager to hear their captain's pronouncement. The golden fox took Gorath's pitchfork, Tung, pointing landward with it. "Ye've all 'eard o' Redwall Abbey, I wager?" A murmur of anticipation ran through the ranks. He gave it time to die away, then continued. "Dere's some says 'tis only a pretty story, an' others says 'tis real. The biggest, richest place anywheres. Well, wot d'ye say buckoes, would ye like to find out?"
The vermin crew roared their approval. Now Vizka was really talking, this was better than scrounging around the barren Northern Isles, robbing impoverished farms. If there was such a place as the Abbey of Redwall, what secrets, and treasures, lay waiting there to be taken?
The fox captain's long teeth gleamed as he smiled. "Aye, mates, Redwall Abbey, dat's where we're bound! But mark ye, I only wants loyal crewbeasts at me back when I takes dat place on. Are ye wid me, eh?"
Brandishing a bristling array of weapons, the crew roared aloud. "Aye, Cap'n!"
Suddenly the tines of the pitchfork were pointing at the ferret, Grivel, and the two rats, Feerog and Durgy. Vizka's tone was almost cajoling them. "Haharr, an' worrabout yew three, which one of ye'd like ter lead der shore party to Redwall?"
The trio jostled one another as they strode forward, each pointing to himself. "I'll do it, Cap'n!" "Pick me, Cap'n!"
"Y'can trust me t'do der job, Cap'n!" Codj gave his brother an injured look, figuring that he had been passed over as leader of the shore party. Vizka
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winked at Codj, widening his toothy smile. Codj kept wisely silent, knowing the coming danger to somebeast, which his brother's smile always heralded.
Vizka waved the pitchfork at his crew. "Avast, who o' these three do I choose?"
Now everybeast was shouting out, calling the name of the one they fancied. The golden fox let them carry on awhile, then waved the pitchfork for silence.
"I think we should let 'em choose atwixt 'emselves, by test o' combat. Last beast standin' alive gits der job!"
Shrieks of delight echoed from the barbaric crew. "Aye, Cap'n! Test o' combat! Aye!"
A ring was quickly formed, with the three contestants at its centre. They stared uneasily at each other, then began circling. Each knew that nobeast refused an order from Vizka Longtooth, whose smile had become a wide grin of enjoyment. He signalled with the pitchfork. "Haharr, go to it, me lucky buckoes, no mercy an' no quarter. We'll see who's fit ter be der leader!"
Grivel had his cutlass out halfheartedly, he shrugged at Feerog. "We ain't got no choice, mate!"
Feerog did not hesitate; whipping out his sword, he ran Grivel through. As he did, the big, black rat, Durgy, jumped him from behind. Durgy did not have a sword, but he was expert with his dagger. Feerog gave a gasp of surprise as the blade plunged between his ribs, he collapsed silently. It was all over in the twinkling of an eye. A hush fell over the crew as they gazed at the two who had just met death.
Durgy turned to face his captain, pointing to himself with the dagger. "I think it'll be meself who'll be leadin' yore shore party, Cap'n!"
Vizka shook his head. "Not after ye've slayed three o' my crew, Durgy."
Codj looked puzzled. "Three? But dere's only two of 'em."
Vizka was enjoying himself, he nodded affably to the crew. "Three if'n ye counts pore Snikey. Durgy an' 'is two
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mates was plottin' agin me, but Snikey 'eard 'em, so Durgy did 'im in, an' tossed 'im o'er der side. Ain't dat right, mate?"
Durgy was at a loss for words. Vizka winked at him.
"Thought ye'd fooled me, didn't ya, but der cap'n o' de Bludgullet knows everyt'ink. Don't 'e, Cooky?"
The fat, greasy cook, Glurma, nodded.
The crew knew then who had informed on the plotters.
Glurma ducked off silently to her galley. One or two of her vermin shipmates cast glances of disgust at her. But Vizka distracted their attention, carrying on with his summation of the good times ahead for his loyal crew.
"Belay, buckoes, I nominates Codj t'be der shore party leader. We'll take dis Redwall Abbey, an' loot it down to der stones. Loads o' booty fer all paws, eh!"
At the mention of looting and booty, the crew cheered lustily. Everybeast was firmly on the golden fox's side.
He leaned on the pitchfork, smiling indulgently at them. "Aye, booty, grog an' vittles fer my trusty cullies!" He paused, shaking his head sadly. "All 'cept fer one, an' I'll leave 'im to yew, ain't no room aboard Bludgullet fer mutineers. Harr, 'tis a sad day for yore ole cap'n. I'll go an' mourn in me cabin."
The circle of drawn weapons closed in on Durgy.
Vizka Longtooth paused before entering his cabin. He listened to Durgy's last scream, and heard the splash as his carcass hit the water. Then he wiped away a mock tear. "Harr, a sad day indeed!"
That evening the Sea Raiders poled their vessel up the navigable channel across the sands. Codj commanded two squads, both tugging on hawsers attached to the ship's bows. By dusk they were into the dunes. Gorath stared at the sandy walls, either side of the deck. Freedom had never looked so near, yet been so far from him. The young badger waited until the crew took to their bunks and hammocks. When the decks were deserted, he inspected the chain that
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held him to the mast. It was neither old nor thin, but a thick, solid iron chain, which could not be broken by any score of strong beasts. The lock went between two links, holding the chain tightly about his waist, a big lock, stout and secure. He did not know who was the key holder, though he suspected it was either Vizka or his brother. Gorath knew nothing of locks, this was the first one he had ever encountered. His big, blunt claws made no impression on it, though he tugged, heaved and even bit at the thing. Somehow, someway, he had to free himself, and escape from these vermin. He had to reach Redwall if he had any chance of staying alive.
Hunger, weariness and anxiety cast him into a sleep that was more of a faint than a slumber. He dreamed of a mouse, a fearless-looking creature, who wore armour, and carried a shining sword. The mouse spoke words into his exhausted mind.
"To perish midst vermin will not be thy fate, watch for the young thief, be still and wait!"
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9
Mad Maudie (the Hon.) Mugberry Thropple was neither a whiner nor a pleader. Being surrounded by lizards, and bound to a tree, did nothing to dampen her fighting spirit. When the big lizard leaned over her, hissing and threatening, the haremaid managed to give him a hard kick in his green, mottled stomach. The big lizard gave a curious gurgle, and collapsed clasping his injured midriff. Maudie booted out again, dealing him another kick in the back, at about the spot where she imagined a lizard's bottom would be. Then she gave him a piece of her mind.
"Now then, you slinky blighter, pay attention! You don't frighten me in the slightest, not you, or those other caddish types skulkin' over yonder, wot!"
The big sand lizard crawled out of Maudie's reach. His face had taken on a sickly pallor, but he staggered upright, hissing viciously. "You will die forrrr thisssssss!"
Maudie twiddled her ears at him. "Yah, boo an' sucks t'you! Just wait'll I get loose, I'll boot your blinkin' tail into the middle of next season, you great, slithery wretch!" She wriggled and tugged at the rope, but to little avail, it still held her fast to the trunk of the oak. Whilst she struggled, Maudie kept an eye on the reptiles.
The big lizard had gone over to consult with the others.