Wulpp did not argue. He was weary and his footpaw throbbed relentlessly. Closing his eyes, he lay back.
"Right you are, Bucktail. I feel like I could sleep fer a season!"
Keyla had been listening to the two creatures on the other side of the fence. Curiosity overcame the young otter, and he was not long in climbing the timbers to peer over the top at the pair.
Brome made sure that Wulpp's eyes were closed and they were not being observed, then he swept the floppy hat from his head and grinned cheekily up at Keyla.
Holding up a warning paw, he pointed at Wulpp, stroking the searat's head gently and crooning in a soft voice, "Sleep, matey. You need a long deep sleep, long an' deep."
Keyla understood. He gave a broad wink and disappeared.
Brome continued speaking soothingly to the half asleep Wulpp.
"Sleep, matey, that's all you need, sleepy sleep sleep ..."
Wulpp's eyelids flickered. He glanced at Brome and smiled lazily.
"Bucktail, me ole matey, you looks like some kind o' mouse without yore hat on ..."
Assisted by a mouse named Yarrow, Keyla popped up over the compound top. Between them they held a big improvised sandbag.
Whump!
Wulpp's head was a target they could not miss. The heavy object landed forcefully, knocking the searat out like a light.
"He's got enough on his mind to keep him asleep a good while," the irrepressible Keyla giggled. "Brome, what are you doing back here, friend?"
The young mouse clamped his floppy hat back on. "I've come to get you and the rest away from here, Keyla, though I thought you'd have escaped with the last lot."
The young otter shook his head. "I could have, but there's old ones and some babes here that weren't quick enough to get away. I couldn't hop it and leave them just because I was young and fast, now could I?
"
Brome propped Wulpp's head on the sandbag as if it were a pillow.
"You're a good otter, Keyla. Listen, here's the plan. We'll get them all out between us, tonight."
Gurrad watched as Badrang poured poison into a flagon of blackberry grog.
"Great seasons, Sire, there's enough in there to lay an army out!"
Badrang shook the small vial to make sure the last drops went in.
"Clogg could never resist a drop of blackberry grog. It'll be his last drop, laced with wolfbane and hemlock. There's not a creature born who could drink that and live to tell the tale." He pulled Gurrad close, his voice a sinister hiss. "Listen now, rat. Here's what you must do!"
The rat called Oilback threw his knife. It zipped through the air to bury itself deep in the driftwood spar set up on the beach. Cap'n Tramun Clogg grunted as he tugged the quivering blade free and returned it to its owner.
"Good throw, matey. I likes to see a beast who's skilled at slingin' a frogsticker. Do it agin, Oilback."
The searat twirled his knife expertly, closed one eye, sighted and threw hard. This time the blade went a third of its length into the timber. Clogg clapped his back heartily.
"Haharr, yore a murderer born, Oilback. Now cock a lug, matey, an'
listen to a liddle plan that I've arranged fer that stingy grubswipin'
former partner o' mine .. ."
The moon appeared over Marshank, casting pale light and deep shadow over the fortress where three separate schemes were being laid, two for death and one for freedom.
Brome hastily rearranged his corsair gear. There was little difference in the ill assorted rags worn by Clogg's pirates and those of Badrang's soldiers and in no time Brome looked every inch the hordebeast. Keyla did the same, improvising with Wulpp's tawdry rags.
Minutes later, two ruthless hordebeasts marched straight past the guards and into the slave compound.
"Stay at the rear and help any stragglers," Brome signalled to Yarrow. "Righto, listen friends, all you have to do is follow Keyla and me. If anybeast stops or challenges us, don't you say a word, leave the talking to me.
Stay in the shadows as much as possible, don't hurry too much and above all, be silent!"
They set off towards the main courtyard with Brome and Keyla leading the group.
Badrang corked the flagon, shaking it well before he gave it to Gurrad.
"See if they're asleep, don't chance it otherwise. If everything is all right, then sneak up close to Clogg. He's usually sleeping near to the largest campfire. Place the flagon in his paw, or as close as you can get to it. That stupid plaited buffoon doesn't care what he drinks. When he wakes in the morning the flagon will be the nearest thing to him.
He'll pop the cork and guzzle it right off. I know him of old. Go now.
I'm trusting you to do the job right, Gurrad."
Swathed in a dark cloak, the rat left the longhouse.
Standing in the shadows at the side of the longhouse was another cloaked figure. Oilback held his knife by the blade, ready to throw. The doorway area was illuminated in a patch of moonlight. His paw trembled a little from the tension of waiting and the enormity of his task. It was not just any common crewbeast that got to kill Lord Badrang, the Tyrant of Marshank. No, it was he, Oilback, the best knife thrower in all Cap'n Clogg's crew.
He heard the creak of the door as it opened. Tightening his grip on the blade, he closed one eye and took aim. A cloaked figure stole out, shutting the door carefully behind it. Oilback grunted with exertion as he hurled his weapon.
It was a good throw. The cloaked figure collapsed silently off the porch. Oilback hurried forward. Retrieving his knife from Gurrad's throat, he wiped the blade, giving a low snarl of dismay when he saw the dead features of the creature he had slain. It was not Badrang!
His footpaw struck something a flagon of wine. Never being one to pass up a free gift, he rammed it into his runic and turned to run away. It was at that exact moment Brome was passing with the slaves.
Oilback ran slapbang into Brome.
There was a moment's silence as they confronted each other, then Brome said in a quiet but commanding tone, "What are you doing around here?"
Oilback answered hesitantly, thinking fast as he did. "Er, oh, I'm, er, gettin' rid of this dirty spy for Lord Badrang. He's one o' those corsairs. I caught 'im 'angin' about 'ere!"
Brome nodded. "Good!"
He was about to turn away when Oilback became suspicious. "Just a moment, mate. What are you doin' wid that bunch?"
Keyla stepped in boldly. "If it's any of your business, we're puttin'
them in the prison pit. Lord Badrang doesn't want this lot escapin' like the others. He wants 'em down the pit where he can keep an eye on
'em!"
The corsair was slightly taken aback by Keyla's aggressive stance.
"Oh, er, right. Well I'll bid ye good night."
Unfortunately they were both travelling in the same direction. Keyla and Brome were forced to walk along with Oilback, who was heading for the main gate, which lay in the same direction as the prison pit.
They walked in silence with the slaves following.
Oilback glanced at the thirty creatures. "Yore gonna have a job on yer paws gettin' all them down that pit. They'll be standin' on each other's 'eads."
"Do em good!" Brome sniffed officiously. "We're not here to argue, we carry out our Leader's orders an' don't ask too many questions."
The searat nodded agreement. "Aye, that's all the likes of us can do, eh, mate!"
Though the gates of Marshank were open to the corsairs camped on the shore, there was still a sentry posted on top of the wall. It was the ferret Bluehide. He saw the slaves being led to the pit and called down,
"What in the name of frogfeathers are you doin' down there?"
Oilback winked at Keyla and shouted back arrogantly, "What does it look like we're doin', takin' a swim?"
Bluehide shook his spear. "Leave that gratin' alone. All those beasts can't fit down there. Besides, there was three escaped from that pit!"
Brome sighed wearily. Placing paws on hips, he called out in an insulting manner, "It's none of your business how many slaves Lord Badrang wants us to put in the pit. And another thing, those three wouldn't have escaped if the sentry that night had been keepin' an eye on this grating. They broke out by movin' it."