Gorath's heart leapt as he caught sight of the object. "That's Tung, my pitchfork. The fox must've forgotten he threw it. He walked off and left it there!"
Orkwil cautioned Gorath. "Keep yore voice down, mate.... Whoops!"
Being locked close to Gorath on the chain, Orkwil was
102
suddenly swung into the air as the badger reached up and grabbed the pitchfork, which he pulled loose with a few good tugs. Orkwil hit the deck with a bump, gabbling out instructions to his big friend.
"Get down an' lay low, hide that thing before anybeast comes up on deck, hurry!"
Gorath lay flat, concealing most of the pitchfork with his body. Orkwil kept watch, assuring himself that all was quiet above deck. He ran his paws around the mast, searching until he found what he needed.
"Now go nice'n'easy, friend, there's a nail stickin' out a bit, right about where my paw is now. Could you lever it out quietly with one o' the prongs of your fork?"
Whilst Orkwil kept watch, Gorath probed at the nail-head. Getting the prong of his weapon beneath the lip of the nail, he levered carefully at it. The nail gave a slight creak, then it began to move, bit by bit. Gorath wiggled it from side to side, until it loosened. Putting the pitchfork aside, he braced himself. Gripping the nail in his big, blunt claws, he heaved away, yanking it free of the mast timber. '
They both sat with their backs to the mast, as Orkwil took the nail and went to work. He twiddled it in the keyhole of Gorath's lock. The badger watched anxiously, whispering, "What's happening, is it opening?" He fell silent as the young hedgehog glared at him, wiggling the nail back and forth. Orkwil grinned.
"A good thief can open any lock. There!"
The padlock lay open. Gorath breathed a huge sigh as he loosed the chain from his middle.
Orkwil chided him, "Be still, bigbeast, give me a chance to get my lock off. Wait... wait... ah, there it goes, mate!" The chain clanked to the deck. Orkwil was about to rise, when he sat back down speedily. "Be still, somebeast's comin'!"
It was Codj, coming to check up on the two prisoners. Halting where he knew he was out of the badger's reach,
103
the stump-tailed fox peered through the darkness at them both. He was surprised to see Gorath sitting upright, though he could not see that the captives were free. Codj turned away, heading back to his cabin, commenting aloud, "Still alive, eh, Rock'ead, huh, wot keeps ya goin'?" He half-turned as something sounded behind him, but Codj was too late. Gorath's huge paws were around the fox's neck, and he was whispering in his ear.
"I'll tell you what keeps me going, the need to slay my kinbeasts' murderer. Tell me again how you locked them in a farmhouse, and burned them alive. Tell me!"
Orkwil watched in horrified fascination as Gorath shook the already dead fox like a rag. He ran to the badger, tugging at his simple, homespun tunic. "Come on, mate, leave him, we've got to get away from here. We must get to Red-wall an' sound the alarm!"
With the limp form of the fox still clenched in his paws, Gorath turned to face the young hedgehog. Orkwil gasped with fear. The badger's eyes were blood red, his teeth bared like a madbeast. Gorath was in the grip of Bloodwrath. Then something very odd happened. Gorath dropped the carcass of his foe, picked up both Orkwil and his pitchfork and slid over the side of the ship, into the River Moss. By the time they reached the bank, he appeared quite calm. Orkwil attributed his friend's sudden change to the cold riverwater.
"Which way to your Abbey, my friend?"
Orkwil pointed. "Go east, we'll cross to the other bank when we're safe out of this area."
They set off into the nightshaded woodland, with Orkwil leading the way. He had been walking rapidly for awhile, when he noticed that Gorath was dropping behind. The badger's pace was noticeably slower, and he was having to stop, leaning on the pitchfork, with his huge striped head drooping. The hedgehog waited until his friend caught him up, one look at Gorath was all he needed, Orkwil shook his head.
104
"Yore in bad shape, everythin' is catchin' up on ye. Rest, an' vittles, that's what y'need, matey. Sit down."
Gorath slumped wearily to the ground. His head wound, thirst, starvation and cruel treatment had finally taken its toll. That, with his brief attack of Bloodwrath, had left him as weak as a Dibbun.
Orkwil scratched his headspikes, trying to think what to do. The answer came to him in a flash, he took command, issuing Gorath with orders. "I've got it! I know this neck o' the woods, mate. Now you stay here, keep that Tung thing with ye, but don't move, sit right here. I think there's a big, ole bed of ferns hereabouts, stay clear of it, 'cos it's a swamp. Someplace along the bank there's a fat, greedy vole. That beast's got two things we need, vittles an' a place to rest. You stop here, I'll come back for ye as soon as I can. Understood?"
Gorath rose with a grunt. "I'm coming with you."
Orkwil folded his paws resolutely. "No, you ain't, I said yore stayin' here!"
"And I said I'm coming with you!"
The pitchfork prongs were a spike's breadth from Orkwil's snout. He hardened his voice as he glared at Gorath. "That's what I said, yore comin' with me. Now stop ar-guin' an' let's get movin', bigbeast!"
The bankvole was quite a good cook, by woodland standards. He was sitting on the edge of the river, just outside of his dwelling, savouring the aroma of a large, speckled trout. Only the previous day he had netted it in a reed snare. It was not often that such a feast was to be had, speckled trout were cunning and swift on the River Moss, but voles, particularly old and greedy ones, were equally sly and quick.
The watervole had been up most of the night, preparing himself an epic breakfast. He had dug a firepit, laying his ingredients on the white-hot charcoal embers. A layer of
105
fresh watercress and dandelion leaves, with fragrant mint, pennywort and sorrel. Next came the trout, stuffed with mushrooms and some almonds he had been saving for such an occasion. Topping the lot with a layer of dock-leaves, he covered the pit, and its contents, with loam. Soon it would be baked to a turn.
Sipping a beaker of his own home-brewed cider, the watervole sniffed the delicious aroma permeating through the loam.
"Mmmmm, is that baked trout I can smell, marvellous!"
The vole's paw reached for the club, which lay beside him, as he snarled viciously at Orkwil Prink. "So, it's you agin', well, I'm ready for ye this time, 'edgepig. Try any-thin' wid me an' ye'll join those two water rats, weighted down wid rocks in the swamp!" Waving the club, he scrabbled around with his free paw, and came up with a long dagger. "Aye, I'm good'n'ready, so make yore move, if ye dare!"
Orkwil shook his head, feigning sadness. "Well, there's gratitude for you, after me savin' his life. If I'd known he was goin' to be so nasty I wouldn't have invited you along, my friend."
The vole looked over his shoulder, to see whom the young hedgehog was addressing. His jaw dropped at the sight of the huge badger carrying a pitchfork. Dropping both club and dagger, the terrified beast took to his paws and fled into the woodlands.
Orkwil began raking the loam from off the cooked trout. "Dearie me, I never knew voles could run as fast as that. D'you think it was somethin' I said?"
Squatting down beside the cooking pit, Gorath helped to lift the delicious repast out onto the bank.
"Who knows, perhaps he didn't feel very hungry?" For the first time, Orkwil saw his friend smile. Indicating the fish, the young hedgehog smiled back. "I'll wager you feel hungry, mate. Look, why don't you stop here, eat your fill
106
and rest. I can make it to the Abbey alone, yore too weary an' ill to travel far. I'll get help sent out to you, just take it easy, you've been through enough."
Gorath used the vole's dagger to share out the meal. "Eat up and don't talk so much, Orkwil. I'm coming with you, just as I've been ordered to."