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?"
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 ship 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 eggshell 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.
"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 massive 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. Hello!"
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 principal baritoness. The two young squirrelmaids there are Trefoil and Celandine, 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 shore. 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 shells. 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 sturdy 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 passed Brome a sizeable wedge of pie.
"Yurr, maister. 'Unny an' blackb'rry. Speck you loik summat sweet."