Doomeye dug foodscraps from between his blackened teeth with a dirty claw. "Aye, yer right there, Rip, any way we could, we murdered 'em!"
The wildcat sat back and purred. "Excellent. Now listen to me if you want to keep eating food like that and regain your rank as captains in my Hordes."
Brogalaw stroked the heron's neck. "Good job you found this other cave, Rulango. My ole mum was beginnin' to create an' kick up somethin' awful about all the loot we was bringin' back."
The cave was upcoast, slightly north of the sea otters' dwelling, a fortunate find indeed. Stiffener took a torch from its wall mount to light their way out. From floor to roof, the place resembled a well-stocked larder cum armory. Weaponry and uniforms lined its walls, while at the center there was an enormous heap of fruit, vegetables and edible roots. Plunder, taken from the foraging patrols by the Bark Crew. Outside they doused the torch in the sand and camouflaged the cave entrance with a dead sea buckthorn bush.
Trobee kept a branch to cover their tracks. "I say, let's get back an' see what luck old Durvy had today. Maybe his crew brought back some shrimp, wot!"
Brog's mother Frutch was in the process of giving Durvy and his crew a good dressing-down.
"Seasons o' seaweed'n'salt, what are we supposed t'do with all this shrimp, that's what I'd like t'know, master Durvy. There can't be a single shrimp left in the sea!"
Durvy dodged a swipe of the ottermum's ladle. "Belay wid that weapon, marm, I'm only doin' wot yore son told me to. You ain't supposed to biff members o' the Bark Crew wid ladles, that's takin' the side o' the enemy!"
Brog rescued the ladle from his mum and hugged her. "Wot's for supper, ye liddle plump battler?"
Frutch tugged at his whiskers. "Put me down, ye great ribcrusher, or I won't be fit t'cook anythin' for anybeast. Sufferin' sandhills, did any pore ottermum have t'put up with such a son!"
Brog's nose twitched at the two cauldrons which his mum, Blench and Woebee had perched on the fire. "Mmmmm, skilly'n'duff, me fav'rite!"
The three cooks denied it stoutly.
"We never did no skilly'n'duff, did we, Blench?"
"No marm, we got shrimp soup, followed by shrimp stew, ain't that right, Woebee?"
'"Tis for sure, an' a nice shrimp salad for afters!"
Brog's face was the picture of misery. "But I could've sworn I smelled skilly'n'duff?"
Frutch plucked her ladle from his paw and whacked his tail. "Of course 'tis skilly'n'duff, ye big omadorm. With lots o' plums in the duff, the way you like it. Now make y'self useful, an' you, too, mister Stiffener. Lend a paw to get those cauldrons off'n the fire."
Over supper, Durvy told of his crew's exploits at sea that day.
"Ho, we kept the bluebottom fishin' fleet busy, mates. We swam under their vessels an' shredded the nets, stole all their shrimp, an'hahaha, tell Brog wot you did, Konul."
'"Twas like this, see," a sleek ottermaid, with a face born to mischief, explained. "I waited 'til they dropped anchors to fish. Soon as they cast their nets I attached each boat's net to the next boat's anchor flukes, snarled 'em up good an' proper. Heehee, you should've seen the vermin haulin' away at those nets. All the vessels came bumpin' togetherthere was bluebottoms floppin' an' fallin' this way'n'that. Harder they hauled, the worse it got. Them boats was knocked together so 'ard that three of 'em sprang leaks. Last I saw they was tryin' to paddle back to shore an' bailin' out at the same time, draggin' most o' the fishin' fleet along with 'em. I tell ye, Brog, 'twas a sight to see!"
Another of Durvy's crew piped up. "Aye, then they started fightin' among themselves. So I slices through the anchor ropes an' off they went like big flappin' birds with the wind behind 'em. That ole fleet hit the shore so 'ard that they was all run aground!"
Sailears chuckled with delight at the sea otters' story. "Wish I could swim like you chaps, then I could jolly well go along with you."
Durvy gallantly refilled her bowl from the cauldron. "Yore doin' just fine as the onshore Bark Crew, marm. I reckon those rascals must really be feelin' the pinch now, wot d'you think, Stiff?"
"I think yore right. They're learnin' a hard lesson the hard way. Even if Trunn an' the officers kept the best for themselves, I'll wager they've more or less gone through wot stores was left in Blench's larders."
Stiffener little knew how truly he spoke. At that exact moment, Ungatt Trunn was prowling into Salaman-dastron's dining hall, followed by Fragorl, carrying her master's plate. Taking it from her, the wildcat shoved the platter under the cook's nose.
"What do you call this mess of rubbish?"
Wiping his paws on his greasy apron, the cook avoided eye contact with his master, stammering nervously, "Mightiness, 'tis all we've got left. Yew 'ad the Fragorl take the last o' the good stuff up to yore chamber. I drained the wine kegs to fill a pitcher, an' those scones was well stale, but they was all I 'ad left."
Trunn stared around the deserted tables as the cook continued, "'Tain't worth anybeast turnin' up 'ere fer vittles, Mighty One. There ain't nothin' to serve 'em. Them Bark Crew are t'blame, I say, stealin' the food out'n our mouths like that. I been mixin' some moldy flour wid chopped seaweed an' dannelion roots. Don't know wot I'll do when that's gone, sire."
Ungatt Trunn pushed the plate into his trembling paws. "Stop babbling and whining and keep your voice down. After tomorrow there'll be food aplenty for all. Put the word about that this is my promise to you."
Marching hurriedly from the dining hall, the wildcat was rounding a torchlit passage leading out to the shore when a shadow fell over him. He fell back with a horrified gasp, shielding his face with a paw. The shadow was that of a great double-hafted sword hilt. Trunn stood petrified at the sight. It grew larger and came closer. A strangled cry was torn from his throat, and he shrank back against the rough rock walls.
Two gaunt rats rounded the corner, carrying between them three driftwood spars lashed together, the shadow of which looked for all the world like a giant double-hilted sword haft. They chatted to each other as they toted their burden.
"I thought yew said this'd get all seaweed tangled 'round it?"
"Well, we jammed it between those rocks on the tide-line. It should've got some seaweed stuck to it at 'igh tide."
"But it never did, did it? Huh, talk about bright ideas!"
Noticing Ungatt Trunn, they dropped the contraption and saluted.
"Mightiness!"
The wildcat wiped a trembling paw across his ashen face. "Take that thing and burn it," he shouted hysterically. "Burn it! D'you hear me? Burn it!"
Blank-faced, the two rats were knocked to one side as the wildcat swept by them on his way to the shore. They looked at one another and shrugged.
"Wot was all that about, mate?"
"Search me. Get that torch off'n the wall an' put a light to this thing, afore 'Is Mightiness comes back!"
"Was I seein' things, or did 'e look frightened?"
"Looked like 'e'd seen a ghost. This won't burn, 'tis damp."
"Well, git yore sword an' chop it up 'til yew find the dry bits."
Ungatt Trunn sat on the sand, which was still warm from the day's sun. Much as he had hated and despised Groddil, he missed the fox magician's soothing words. Every day the specter of the badger looming in his mind was growing larger. He was surrounded by his Blue Hordes, yet trapped alone by the visions of his own imagination, with nobeast to explain them or chant encouraging prophecies.
He stared disdainfully at the silent Grand Fragorl, in attendance as ever. "Well, what have you got to say for yourself?"
"Nothing, sire," the ferret replied warily.
His footpaw shot out, sending her sprawling in the sand. "Nothing. That's all you ever say. Get out of my sight!"