I'll not walk with you, not one pace,
You're not the one I love.
Sing dumble dum and derry dee,
You'll have to smile to come with me,
Till happiness doth let you see
You're the one that I love!"
The dipper chirped appreciatively as they applauded. Grumm shook his head admiringly. "Oi loikes that un, Miz Roser. Allus makes oi feel loike darncen!"
Rose gave the mole a playful shove. "Well come on, old Grummchops, it's ages since I saw you dance!" Grumm stuck his digging claws in his ears, rolling from side to side with embarrassment. "Ho no, oi'm no gurt shakes at 'ee darncen. You'm papa allus used to larff when oi darnced."
"Well, papa's not here now, so you'll dance or we'll tell the Warden that you've been making fun of him!"
Rose picked up Grumm's ladle and shook it at him in mock anger.
"Ho no, you'm wudden do a thing loik that."
"Oh yes she would!" Martin and Pallum chorused together.
Grumm stood up, shuffling his paws. "Hurr, s'pose oi better sing 'n'
darnce then. You'm awful crool beasts."
Rose could see that the mole wanted to sing and dance. "Come on, Grummyface, do your party piece, the one about your old grandfather.
I like that one."
Mole dancing is a curious spectacle and is invariably accompanied by singing. Grumm held up his digging claws and did a small hopskip,
"Naow Granfer were a pow'ful mole.
Scratch a tunnel dig an 'ole,
The moightiest eater, so oi'm tole,
In all of all 'ee wuddlands.
You'm should've seen him eaten cake.
Granmum said, fer gudness sake,
Oi'll start 'ee oven up to bake
An' twelveteen cakes oi'll make.
If Granfer ate wun, him ate two,
Ho dearie me, oi'm tellen you,
Him ate those twelveteen cakes roight throo,
Then went asleep till zummer.
An' when 'ee zummer sun did break,
My ole granfer came awake,
The gudd ole beast drinked all 'ee lake
An' left 'ee fishes sobbin'.
Him'n story as oi've toald to you,
Oi swears as every wurd be troo,
Iffen you'm think oi tole fibs to you,
Then go an' arsk 'ee fishes!"
Rose, Pallum and Martin were falling about laughing as Grumm took a bow. He was puffing from the exertion of song and dance combined.
The Warden appeared as if from nowhere. He stared hard at Grumm and shook his head once. "Good at putting out fire, not at singing. Mouse Rose is the best singer. I know this. Sleep now! Dipper, you go back to your family nest!"
Sometime before dawn Martin stirred. Vague muffled sounds had gradually wakened him. He lay awhile taking stock of their hostile surroundings. The muffled sounds continued. Rolling over slowly, he checked the sleeping forms of Rose, Grumm and Pallum. They were deep in slumber, breathing peacefully. Martin's eyes strayed over to where the grey heron was lying. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but he sensed that something was not right. He peered long at the bird, his paw straying to the short sword stuck in the ground near his head.
The Warden appeared to be rolling about in his sleep, making muffled noises.
Slowly Martin rose until he was crouching. Placing his paws carefully among the damp grass tussocks, he edged over. Something slimy slapped him in the face as he reached the moving figure of the Warden. There were dark shapes all over the great bird, and it was moving more slowly and weakly As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, Martin saw that creatures he could not make out were strangling the grey heron, winding about its neck while others secured its legs and wings.
So that was what the muffled noises were. They must have been attacking the Warden for some time because the big bird's struggles were very weak. Martin threw himself into the fray with a shout that wakened his three friends instantly.
"Yaaaaah, Maaaaartin!"
24
It was getting towards evening and shadows were beginning to lengthen on the shoreline as Brome climbed down from the cliffs.
Ahead of him he could see Wulpp, the searat who had taken Felldoh's javelin through his footpaw, limping along by himself. Suddenly Brome had an idea that might gain him entrance into Marshank. He padded silently up until he was almost level with Wulpp.
"Hi there, mate. You the beast they left be'ind?"
Wulpp sat down on the sand, wincing as he nursed his paw. "Aye that's me. What's yer name, matey?"
Brome sat down by him and began ripping a strip from his shirt.
"Harr, I'm Bucktail. Cap'n sent me back for ye. I was walkin' along the clifftops when I saw you down 'ere. 'Old still while I binds that paw up fer ye, messmate."
Wulpp gritted his teeth as Brome worked. "Aagh, it 'urts bad, Bucktail. Wot d'ye think, will it give me a limp for the rest o' me life?"
"More'n likely, bucko." Brome nodded as he tied the improvised bandage off neatly. "You was lucky it didn't catch you 'igher, or you'da been a goner. Come on, mate, up on yer paws. I'll give yer a lift back to the fortress."
Hopping on one paw, the injured searat threw an arm about Brome's shoulders and leaned on him as they made their way slowly back. "Bucktail, eh. Well my name's Wulpp, an' I won't fergit yer fer the 'elp you've give me this day, messmate."
They entered the fortress as darkness fell. Nobeast paid much attention to them both. The main center of attraction was the continuing feud between the two leaders. Clogg sat on the courtyard stones, surrounded by his crew as he tore ravenously at hard bread and dried fish, guzzling seaweed ale from an oversized tankard.
Badrang stood on the porch of his longhouse, haranguing the corsair.
"Now let me get this right, one creature, a single squirrelmaid at that, killed three of your great hairy waverobbers and wounded another. Well, lack a season and lose a day!"
Clogg hurled a hard crust at Badrang. It fell short. "Harr go an' boil yer 'ead, stoatears. You was safe enough inside o' yer fancy fortress surrounded by yer lubbernosed 'orde!"
Badrang leaned over the porch rail, his voice mocking. "And what, pray, was the dreaded Cap'n Tramun Clogg doing while this dreadful slaughter took place? Hiding from the squirrelmaid?"
Clogg's nose glinted purple with rage as he spat out dried fish. "It weren't no squirrelymaid did the killin', it was those excaped slaves o'
yourn throwin' javelins, an' by the way they could throw I'd 'ate t' be in yer shirt if they attacks 'ere!"
The Tyrant spread his paws appealingly to the listeners. "Why should they come back here after escaping? Strikes me they'd want to put as much distance between themselves and Marshank as possible.
By the way, how's your ship refloating coming along?"
A slow smile spread across Clogg's villainous face. "Much the same as yer stone quarryin' an' field croppin', me ole messmate. 'Ave yer done much empire buildin' today, haharrharr?"
Stung by the taunt that had rebounded on him, Bad rang pointed his sword at the corsair. "I'll remind you that you're eating my food, Clogg, and your worthless mob of seascum are filling their bellies at my expense too. But all that's going to change. From now on if you want to eat our supplies at Marshank you'll have to earn your food like any of my creatures!"
Clogg hurled the tankard. It smashed on the ground in front of Badrang as the corsair bellowed defiantly, "We ain't yer creatures, me an' my crew is seabeasts, rovers an' freebooters. We're 'onourin' you by takin' our meals 'ere 'cos you owe us that much, you boat burnin'
barnacle. We'd 'ave sailed off from this fort long since but for yer treachery!"
Brome threw a paw about Wulpp, steering him towards the walls of the slave compound. "C'mon, mate, let's find someplace for you to sit easy. We can't stand around listenin' to those two stoats jawin' each other to death while yer paw's injured bad."
They sat with their backs against the wooden fence. "Harr, 'tis rest you need, Wulpp." Brome spoke loudly on purpose. "A good deep sleep'd do you a power o' good, matey. Sleep, the best healer of all!"