"It's land! Land!"
"Dead ahead, Luke. Cordle's spotted land!"
Luke climbed to the bowsprit and viewed the dark blot on the horizon. "Aye, 'tis land sure enough, an island by the look of it. Take in the bow an' mainsails, Coll, an' steer north. We'll sail in nice'n'easy 'round the other side of that island. No sense in chargin' at it full sail. Right, mates, I want you all armed an' alert. Cordle, Denno, Dulam, stay with the ship an' guard it close. The rest of you'll come ashore with me. Make no noise, tread careful an' follow my lead. There's no tellin' what we might meet!"
The Sayna dropped anchor in a sheltered inlet on the island's west side at early noontide. It was sunny, silent and windless. Luke inspected the high rocks surrounding the cove. Seabirds nested in the crags beneath a jumble of trees and vegetation growing on the clifftops. Climbing over the ship's side, the shore party waded through clear sunwarmed shallows to a narrow strip of sandy beach.
Vurg gripped his spear tight, whispering to Luke, "I don't like it, mate. 'Tis far too quietplace gives me the creeps. I feel like somebeast's watchin' us!"
Luke drew a scimitar he had chosen from the former crew's weaponry. He pointed it at a strange sight, a flight of steps carved into the cliffs. "I wonder who took the trouble t'do that? Looks as if they've been there a long time. Let's take a look."
In single file they climbed the smooth, well-carved steps, which, though narrow, were easily negotiable. They ascended in several zigzag shapes to the cliff top. From above, the Sayna looked very small in the cove below. Cardo uprooted something from the ground which he wiped on his tunic before beginning to eat it.
"Mmm, young onion. Wonder how that got here?"
A loud, frightening cry rang out from the trees.
"Oohoohoohaaaaaarrrrreeeeeegharr!"
The hair on Cardo's nape stood straight up, and he dropped the onion. "What'n the name o' frogs was that?"
Luke and Vurg began creeping forward, gesturing to the rest not to follow them. "Stay here. We'll go an' take a look." Crouching low, they made their way into the thickets.
A small bird whistled somewhere, but other than that the only sound the two mice heard was their own foot-paws rustling through the ferns. After a while Luke straightened up. "Well, whatever it was, there's neither sight nor sound of it now, matey."
Vurg uncrouched and something bumped lightly against the back of his head. He turned cautiously. "Hoho, pears, a whole treeful of 'em!"
It was a pear tree, laden with fine ripe fruit.
Vurg picked one, squeezed it gently, nodded approvingly, then took a huge bite. "Mmm shlumphh! Sweet'n'juicy, mate, wunnerful!"
Luke reached for a pear, grinning at his friend's juice-wetted face. "Ole greedyguts, are you eatin' that pear or takin' a bath in it?"
Fffffssssst. . . Splack!
A thick piece of wood with a metal point at either end whipped out of nowhere and thudded deep into the tree trunk between them both. It was followed by a loud booming voice echoing out of the stillness of the trees.
"Seascum! Touch not my food. Go from this place or Werragoola will tear you limb from limb and devour you!"
Luke threw his pear to the ground. "Do as I say, Vurg. Drop your pear an' let's get back t'the crew. Don't argue!"
Vurg was not about to disagree. He dropped the half-eaten pear as if it were a poisonous reptile and followed Luke back the way they had come. When he figured they were both out of sight, Luke dropped down behind a fallen tree.
Vurg was still wide-eyed and trembling. "Did ye hear that voice, matey? It must've come from a beast ten times bigger'n a badger!"
"You lay low here 'til I get back. Give me your spear." Before Vurg had a chance to argue, Luke plucked the spear from his paws and was gone.
Bellying down, Luke crawled back to the pear tree. Then he lay still, checking the area keenly, eyes darting back and forth as he searched the trees for any sign of movement. Satisfied he was not being watched, Luke picked up his fallen pear and stuck it on the point of Vurg's spear. Acting speedily, he flung the spear, butt end first, into a thick bush, where the pear on the spearpoint remained clearly visible, sticking out of the leaves. Next Luke gave the pear tree a good shake, calling out aloud, "Hah! These must be the pears the cap'n tole us about!" Then he wriggled off into the shrubbery with his teeth clamped tight around the scimitar, and lay still, watching.
Suddenly another metal-tipped wooden club struck the pear from the speartip and a mad, booming voice howled angrily, "You did not heed my warning! Now Werragoola says you must die! Yakkahakkaheeeyhooooo!"
A wild, ragged figure hurtled across the tiny clearing and flung itself into the bush, undoubtedly hoping to come to grips with whomever was holding the spear. Luke was after it in a flash. The beast was immediately at a disadvantage, trapped with its bottom sticking out of the bush. The sturdy mouse dealt the target a tidy whack with the flat of his blade and shouted sternly, "Come out o' there, ye savage!"
The reply came back after an agonized gasp. "Haharr! Stabbed me from the rear, eh, seascum? You pirates are all the same. Just wait'H I get out of here!"
Luke gave the bottom another whack with his blade-flat. "Mayhap thisll help ye, Wellaguller, or whatever y'call yoreself. Here, have another taste o' my blade!" He laid on another stinging blow and the beast almost somersaulted out of the bush in a cloud of leaves and broken twigs.
"Owowowouch! Typical vermin pirate type, wot! Can't slay a chap without jolly well torturin' him t'death first. Oooh! My posterior's aflippin'flame, y'great lout!"
It was a hare, garbed ridiculously in rags, seashells and strands of vegetation, its face stained purple with berry juice. Luke watched it cautiously as he put up his sword.
"I'm no seascum. My name's Luke an' I'm a chieftain from far across the seas."
The hare stood up, rubbing his tail area ruefully. "Oh I see, and that gives you the blinkin' right to land up here an' whale the tar out of chaps' bottoms with your sword. Huh, prob'ly why you had to leave the place you came fromeverybeast got fed up with you wallopin' all an' sundry 'round the nether regions with swords an' whatnot, so they banished you from the blinkin' land. Say then, scurvy cad, beaten up any other poor creatures t'day, wot wot? Speak up, sah."
Luke was astonished at the nerve of the hare. "Hold on a tick, flop-ears! First you go terrifyin' my crew with your howlin' an' wailin', then you try to kill me by flingin' those funny-lookin' spears of yours, an' then you got the brass neck to complain when you get caught at it. Just who d'ye think you are?"
Puffing out his narrow chest, the hare clapped a paw to his stomach and bowed curtly. "Who do I think I am, sah? I am smoke on the wind, a creature of many resources! To the vermin inhabiting this island I am Werragoola the purple-faced terror. In a far more elegant life than this I was known as Beauclair Fethringsol Cosfortingham. Fondly referred to as just Beau by m'family, friends an' dear old nanny, wot!"
Vurg stole cautiously up, brandishing a stick. "Ah, there y'are, Luke. But who's this creature?"
Luke made the introductions. "This is the one who was doin' all the shoutin' an' throwin' weapons at us. Vurg, meet Beau."
The hare regarded Vurg's outstretched paw suspiciously. "Vurg, eh? Sounds a right murderous vermin name if ever I heard one. Chap looks shifty, too. D'y'know, I'm not totally convinced that you two aren't Sea Rogues."
Luke sighed impatiently. "Well we're not standin' 'round all day just to convince ye. Come on, Vurg, let's round up the crew an' get back aboard the ship. We're wastin' time here."
They had only gone a few paces when Beau leaped in front of them with a broad grin pasted on his purpled features.
"You're mice, silly old me, wot? Mice aren't seascum, they're good chaps like m'self. Have y'really got a ship, Admiral Luke? Are y'sailin' away from this confounded isle? Take me with you, sirs, I beg of you. I'll even provision your vessel with the food I grow here. You won't be sorry. Old salty Beau they call me on shipboard, can turn m'paw to anythin' nautical. Hoist me mains'l, loose those anchors, take a turn 'round the riggin' an' boggle me bilges, wot wot! I can spout that sort o' rot all season..."