Tam slid the dirk behind his shield, hiding it from view. He raised his voice, addressing the vermin cheerily. “A good evenin’ to ye, sirs. Is this your vessel? Dearie me, in a bit of a mess, ain’t it?”
The hefty ermine swaggered forward. Tossing his sword in the air, he caught it skilfully. “Aye, she’s got a hole in the bows, as ye can see. But it ain’t nothin’ that you two bumpkins can’t fix up fer us, is it?”
Doogy smiled disarmingly. Ignoring the ermine, he addressed Tam. “Will ye no’ listen tae that saucy auld windbag! He thinks we’re ship repairers!”
Tam wedged his torch between two rocks. “He’s certainly a hardfaced rogue, Doogy. He called us bumpkins. I think we’ll have to repair his manners.”
The thin ermine brandished his sword, snarling, “Shut yore mouths an’ surrender those weapons. D’ye know who yore talkin’ to? We’re two warriors who serve Gulo the Savage. Do as yore told an’ we might let ye live!”
Doogy stuck his torch alongside Tam’s. “Och, ye great string o’ seaweed, ah dinna care who yore Chieftain is. Nobeast talks tae Wild Doogy Plumm like that!”
Without further ado, a fight to the death commenced. The thin one swung his blade at Doogy’s head, but the little Highlander moved with a speed which belied his girth. Leaping forward, he swung his claymore in a single, mighty arc. It smashed the blade from the vermin’s paw, following through across his throat and despatching him with a single blow. The hefty one closed with Tam, trying to spike him from overhead with a downward sweep of the curved blade. Tam whipped his shield up over his head, deflecting the blow. In the same instant, Tam’s dirk took the shocked vermin through the heart in an upward thrust.
Showing no great concern, Doogy enquired as he cleaned his blade, “Did he do any damage tae yore buckler, Tam?”
After inspecting the shield’s centre boss, Tam shrugged. “Only a wee dent. This old shield’s taken enough of them in its time. Let’s search the ship in case there’s any more foebeasts lurkin’ about.”
Climbing through the rift in the hull, they held up their torches and gazed around. Doogy pulled a face, covering his nose with his tail. “Land’s sakes, Tam, the smell in here’s enough tae knock a body flat! Ah wonder who Gulo the Savage is—yon vermin spoke his name as though we ought tae know him.”
Tam bent to examine a locker, which proved to be empty. “That’s the one Driltig mentioned. He’ll be their leader, the beast who goes around eatin’ other creatures. He’s the lad we’ll have to meet up with if we’re to get Araltum’s banner back.”
Grimacing with distaste, Doogy turned over some mouldy seabird feathers and fishbones with his bladepoint. “Aye, well mind ye speak tae him politely. Ach, there’s nae much of any use here, Tam. Let’s be rid o’ this stinkin’ hulk!”
Exiting the ship, they heaved the slain ermine carcases through the holed bow, tossing the lighted torches in after them. Night was fully fallen as Tam and Doogy watched flames and smoke rising. Fire shot up the rigging and through the sails like a hungry beast, sending sparks crackling into the dark sky. Using the light, Tam cast about until he found pawprints.
“They must’ve doubled back this way after raiding the groves. There’s a whole army here, headin’ off north along the shore. Well, Doogy, do we follow ’em now or leave it until dawn?”
Sitting down on some dry sand, Doogy held up his paws to the blaze. “ ’Tis a shame tae be wastin’ sich a braw fire, Tam. Let’s take a wee bite o’ supper an’ sleep here, where ’tis warm an’ upwind o’ the sparks, eh?”
Supper was merely a few apples and some cheese, which they stuck on the points of their swords, toasting them in the glowing prow timbers.
Having eaten, Doogy wrapped his cloak about him, grunting contentedly. “Mercy me, aren’t we livin’ the life o’ kings, Tam. A braw fire in the hearth, a floor o’ sand, a roof o’ sky an’ toasted apples’n’cheese—what more could ye ask for, eh?”
Tam wiped melted cheese from his swordtip, imitating his friend’s thick Highland brogue. “Och, yer easy pleased, mah wee Doogy. We’ve no’ got a pretty maid tae sing us tae sleep!”
Doogy gathered a swathe of his cloak about his face like a headscarf. He began twittering in what he fondly imagined was a maidenly voice. “Och, ye saucy great beastie! Dinna fret, ah’ll sing ye a wee lullaby!”
Tam groaned in mock despair. “Spare me that, Doogy. Ye look like a boiled pudden, an’ ye sound like a toad trapped under a rock!”
He lay back and tried to sleep whilst his friend serenaded him in a gruff bass voice which bore no resemblance to any young maid’s.
“Oh a beetle maid sat in a glade,
an’ she lamented sadly,
‘Mah love’s gone off tae fight the bees,
ah’m feared that he’ll fare badly.
Those bumbly bees are fierce wee things,
wi’ stripey shirts an’ wee small wings.
Their bottoms carry nasty stings,
they’re feisty aye an’ buzzy!’
Och, mah Berty Beetle looked so stern,
he didnae think ’twas funny,
when ah said that ah’d no’ kiss him,
’til he brought me some honey.
He took his club from off the shelf,
an’ said tae me so gravely,
‘Ah’ll fetch ye honey back the noo,’
an’ he marched off right bravely.
’Twas some lang time ’ere he returned,
mah poor love injured sorely.
Ah spread him wi’ some liniment,
an’ listened tae his story.
Alas, poor me tae love a fool.
Did naebeast tell this fellow,
those bees that don’t wear fuzzy shirts,
are wasps striped black an’ yellow?
Wi’ a hey an’ a hoe an’ a lacky doodle don,
midst all this shameful fuss.
’Tis not just birds who live in trees,
an’ not just bees that buzz!”
Tam was snoring before Doogy finished his ballad. The sturdy Highland squirrel glanced huffily at his companion. “Well, thank ye for those sounds of appreciation. Ah’ll bid ye a guid night, an’ hope that some sparks get blown onto yore unfeelin’ tail!”
Scraping sand together into a pillow shape, Doogy laid down his head, allowing slumber to soothe his injured dignity.
Two hours before dawn, both the friends were sound asleep, wrapped in their cloaks and warmed by the glowing embers not far away. Neither had time to wake, or even stir, when dark shapes pounced on them, swiftly cudgelling them senseless. Tam and Doogy were bundled up in their cloaks and lashed onto long spearpoles, then hurried off north along the beach.
9
Driftail and his gang of eight were all River Rats, robbers and bullies, no strangers to violence, assassins all. They scoured the rivers and streams far and wide, stopping wherever the pickings looked good. Their strategy was simple—they hid among the waterways, ambushing defenceless travellers, lone wanderers and small families. Any creature who could be easily intimidated became their victim. Of late, life had not been very lucky to the River Rats; prey was seemingly thin on the ground. They were forced to work for a living, fishing the waters and grubbing along the banks for berries, fruit and any edible vegetation. At the moment, they had camped on the inlet of a high-banked broadstream, which wended its way over the heath and flatlands, southwest of Mossflower’s vast woodlands.
Dawn was rising as Driftail climbed the sloping bankside to watch for movement amid the scrub and gorse. Behind him, the others were lighting a fire and scratching about to put together some kind of breakfast. Four were trawling the waters for stray fish whilst the others gathered wood and dug for roots. Driftail’s stomach gurgled sourly; he had not eaten for a day and a night. Rising spring dawn in all its beauty was lost on the rat leader. He had seen sunrises come and go, most of them hungry ones of late. Suddenly, his keen eye caught a stirring. Wandering about a flat rocky patch, a stone curlew strode warily in pursuit of insects. The bird pecked at something, lost it and called its soft plaintive cry. Coooooeeeee!