Dotti managed a smile. "Oh, I want to win all right, sah!"
Chapter 21
Stiffener Medick was leading his friends over the dunes toward the cliffs. Dawn's first slivers of light showed pale-washed grey behind the limestone heights. Rain teemed down unabated, squalled by the wind that flattened the dunegrass. Wet and weary they stumbled onward, assisting one another through the soft sand. Stiffener nearly jumped out of his skin when an otter popped up right in front of him.
"Aye aye, wot's this then, the old hares' outin'? Ain't picked out very good weather for it, mate, 'ave ye?"
Immediately recognizing the creature as a friend, Stiffener blew a dewdrop of rain from his nose and grinned. "No we ain't! Tell you somethin' else, too, we've lost our picnic basketslinen, cutl'ry, vittles, the lot!"
The otter threw a paw around the boxing hare's shoulders. "Worse things 'appen at sea, eh? Not t'worry, me ole lad, we'll find ye a dry berth an' a mouthful 'round the fire. My name's Brogalaw, Skipper o' Sea Otters, but let's get you an' yore fogeys in out the rain, then we'll natter."
Brogalaw led them to the cliffs. He clapped paws to his mouth and shouted at the blank stoneface, fighting to make himself heard above the storm: "Ahoy the holt, 'tis only Brog wid some ole hares wot've escaped from the wildcat's bluebottoms on the mountain!"
Trobee coughed politely to gain the otter's attention. "Beg pardon, old boy, but how'd you know that?"
Brogalaw winked. "Tell ye later, matey."
A sea buckthorn bush growing against the cliff face was pushed aside at one corner. The homely face of an otterwife appeared, her nose twitching disapprovingly. "Lan' sakes, Brog, get those pore beasts in out the weather."
They filed inside, staring about. It was a big, rough and ready cave, full of otters and a fully grown grey heron which stood immobile on one leg, watching as Brog grouped them about the fire. Bread was brought to them, with cheese baked on top of it. From a cauldron by the fire, the hares were served with steaming bowls of stew. The otterwife watched appreciatively as they ate hungrily.
"Good, ain't it? That's my special tater'n'whelk'n'leek chowder. I'm Brogalaw's mum, Frutch. Ahoy, Durvy, break out some seaweed grog an' give this crew a beaker apiece. Haharr, that'll put the life back in ye!"
Stiffener could hear the rain outside battering the cliff face as he sat on the warm sand around the fire with his friends, listening to Brogalaw's story.
"'Tis like this, messmates. We're sea otters, see. Lived down the coast, south apiece. Quite 'appy we wos, 'til ole Ungatt arrived with 'is blue vermin. I tell ye, we just about got away with our lives that day. 'Ad to run fer it an' 'ide, we did. Those vermin commandeered our best two ships, stoled 'em y'might say. So there you 'ave it. We sneaked up the coast after 'em, tried to take our ships back. No luck, o' coursefar too many of the swabs fer us. Enny'ow, 'ere we be, sittin' in this cave, waitin' our chances, an' 'opin' fer better times t'sail along!"
Old Bramwil told the hares' tale of woe to the sea otters. The goodwife Frutch, a softhearted creature, wept silently as she listened, dabbing her apron to the tears. "Oh, woe is you, pore beasts, least they never slayed nor imprisoned none of ours. Can't we 'elp 'em, Brog?"
The sturdy sea otter Skipper raised sand with his rudder. "There there now, me liddle mum, don't go floodin' us all out wid yore tears. Yll 'ave me blubbin' soon. Wot sort o' creatures'd we be if'n we didn't give aid to others worse off'n ourselves, I ask yer? 'Course we'll 'elp!"
Stiffener thanked him on behalf of all the hares. Bramwil moved nervously away from the great heron. "Er, don't mind me askin', Brog, but what's that big bird doin' living with you, wot?"
Brogalaw stroked the heron's snakelike neck fondly. "Oh, this feller. Nice ole cove, ain't he? Name's Rulango. Been with us since he was a chick. Never speaks, fends an' feeds for hisself an' washes twice a day in the sea, don't ye, mate?"
Brogalaw stopped stroking and the heron nudged his paw with its long, pointed beak, wanting him to continue. He chuckled. "I forgot to tell ye, don't ever start strokin' his neck feathers. You could stroke all season an' it still wouldn't be enough for 'im. This bird likes t'be stroked plenty! Now, let's get ye sorted. There's pals o' yours, you think, still on the mountain, but y'don't rightly know where, eh?"
Blench toyed with the chowder ladle. It was a nice one. "Aye, that's true, sir. I can't stand the thought that those vermin villains might be doin' nasty things to 'em!" She began sobbing. Frutch sat down beside her and gave her a clean kerchief, and they sobbed together.
Brogalaw twiddled his ruddertip awkwardly. "Ho, I can't be a-doin' wid this. Lookit them, waterin' the chowder down. Action, that's wot we need. Durvy, me'n'you'll take a scout 'round the mountain. Rulango, me ole fishgrubber, would you take a flight 'round the mountain an' see wot y'can see? Sail careful, though watch out fer those blue vermin. Still, if'n the bad weather 'olds out, most of Ungatt's rascals should stay inside the mountain. Well, no time like the present. Let's get under way, mates!"
Stiffener rose, dusting warm sand from himself. "I'll come with ye, Brog."
The sea otter would not hear of it. "Yore much too wearied. Y'need sleep, Stiff mate. Come on now, y'ole codfish, a nice nap by the fire'll do yer a power o' good. We'll be back by the time you wake. If we ain't, then tell Blench an' me mum a few funny stories, cheer 'em up. You'll be doin' me a big favor. G'bye now!" Brogalaw, Durvy and Rulango were gone before anybeast could argue.
Ripfang and Doomeye, like most searats, were hard and cruel, and they were enjoying their new positions as horde captains. They sat by a small fire they had made from the remains of the oil barrel staves. Ripfang poked at it with a long willow cane while he watched the three creatures searching the cavern, calling out to them at frequent intervals.
"Hey there, Fraul, stay where I kin see yew. Don't go hidin' in dark corners where y'can catch a quick nap!"
"How are we supposed to find anythin' if we can't search?" the former stoat captain complained.
Ripfang strutted over to him, swishing the cane. "Git that paw out. I'll teach yer t'cheek an officer!"
Fraul hesitated. Doomeye fitted an arrow to his bow. Aiming at the stoat, he drew string. "Do like 'e sez, stupidface. I'm warnin' yer, I never miss."
Completely humiliated, Fraul was forced to hold out his paw. Swish! Ripfang delivered a stinging cut of the lithe willow. Fraul's face went tight with pain, and he dropped his paw.
Ripfang smiled at him, lifting Fraul's paw with the cane. "Like some more, or 'ave yew learned yer lesson, winklebrain?"
Fraul kept his eyes fixed on the ground. "Captain Ripfang sir, I've learned my lesson, Captain Ripfang."
The searat smirked at his brother. "See, my one's learned now. Every time 'e speaks t'me it's gotta be either sir, or captain, or Captain Ripfang. 'Ow's yore one doin'?"
Doomeye kept the arrow notched as he called to Mirefleck, who was trying to appear unobtrusive behind a fat stalagmite: "Stand out where I can see yore worthless 'ide, yew scum!"
Mirefleck hastened to obey, her shouts echoing in the cavern. "Yessir, Captain Doomeye sir, right away, sir!"
Doomeye looked slightly exasperated. "This one does everythin' y'tell 'er. She ain't much fun. Prob'ly 'cos she knows she can't run faster'n an arrow."
Ripfang sat back down by the fire. "How d'ye know she can't? Go on, try 'er!"
A wicked smile hovered on Doomeye's face. He sighted along the arrow and shouted sharply at Mirefleck, "Run!"
Mirefleck was fast, but not as quick as an arrow.
Doomeye looked stunned, and dropped the bow. "Yew made me do that. I didn't mean to slay 'er. Wot'll the wildcat say? 'E might 'ave me killed with an arrer."
Ripfang gave his brother a playful shove. "Don't be daft. 'Ere, watch this an' lissen. Fraul, Groddil, get yerselves over 'ere, on the double!"