“Anyhow, whilst they’re keepin’ the fox an’ his cronies busy, we’ll get out of here. Snap off a few o’ those branches an’ get paddlin’. I’ll rest awhile. I’m bone tired after pushin’ this thing around half the night in cold seawater. Oh, er, who’s yore pretty liddle friend?”
The hogmaid shook Jum’s paw. “I’m Posybud, sir, but you can call me Posy. I was captured in early spring by the vermin. They murdered my pore ma an’ pa.”
Jum caught the desolate look on Posy’s face, so he quickly changed the subject. “Well, ’tis a pleasure t’meet ye, Posy— an’ you, young Uggo. I thought for certain you was dead, drowned in that woodland pool back there, then washed out t’sea on the stream. So I followed the stream awhile, then I saw the smoke from the vermin fire an’ spotted their den. I could see this log driftin’ round in the shallows. So, figurin’ there was too many o’ those rascals to fight with, I thought up my plan.”
They were a fair distance from the seals and vermin now. Uggo smiled as he looked back at the scene. “I don’t know wot would’ve become of us without you, Mister Gurdy, an’ the seals, too.”
Posy was watching the performance of the big bull and his three mates. “See, the seals are tormenting the vermin, but Snaggs is afraid of taking them on in the sea. He must be furious that we’ve escaped.”
Jum continued helping to propel the log along. “Well, let’s not give ’em a second chance, young un. Let’s get out o’ the way o’ vermin, an’ seals, too. We’ll stay on this course until I see someplace to land. Mebbe I’ll spot ole Uncle Wullow, then we’ll get vittles, a fire an’ a place to rest our heads in peace. Wouldn’t that be nice!”
Uggo pointed to a dark cloudbank rolling in from the western horizon. “Looks like rain!”
There was a flash and a distant boom.
Posy nodded. “Aye, rain, and a lot more, if I’m not mistaken. It sounds like we’re in for a storm!”
11
The bleached skull, which had rolled down the hillock, sat rocking gently in the sand, facing the hares with its hollow grin. Buff Redspore was trembling with fear.
“Did ye see that, sah? This Bloodripper territory must be haunted. Ooooh, I don’t like it one little bit!”
Captain Rake Nightfur, however, was made of sterner stuff. He made straight for the skull. “Och, fiddlesticks, lassie. There’s nought tae be fear’t frae an auld vermin skull!”
Thrusting a claymore point through one of the eyeholes, he flicked the thing in the air. With a squeak of dismay, a small greeny-brown sand lizard fell out. It scrabbled about, looking for somewhere to hide.
Sergeant Miggory leapt smartly forward, trapping it neatly under his footpaw. He addressed it in a very sergeant-major voice. “Nah then, young bucko, stay still h’an I won’t ’ave to squelch ye. That’s the ticket, laddie, stand easy!”
The warning voice boomed out once more. “If ye slay a Bloodripper, ye will not live to see the sun set on this day. Be warned and fear the Mighty Bonecrusher. Aaaaaiiiiieeeee!”
Lieutenant Scutram’s ears began twitching. He took a hasty look around, then whispered to Captain Rake, “Keep the blighter talkin’, sah. I’ve an idea where he is. Chat to the rascal an’ buy me a bit o’ time, wot!”
Nightfur began a harangue with the unknown Bloodripper as Scutram crept off into the dunes.
“Ach, Ah’m nae scair’t o’ anybeast. Who d’ye think ye are, talkin’ tae me in that uncouth manner?”
The mystery voice retorted angrily, “Fool, you would do well to fear the Bloodrippers. We will make you curse the mother who gave birth to you!”
The captain continued baiting the speaker. “Leave mah mother oot o’ this, or mah blade’ll find your gizzard. Aye, an’ don’t dare tae call me fool!”
Now the voice sounded truly wrathful. “Enough! The boldness of your tongue has brought down doom on ye—yeeeeeek! Gerroff! Lemmego!”
Lieutenant Scutram came marching out of the dunes with his prisoner.
Sergeant Miggory fell about laughing. “Hahaha. Where’d ye get that liddle maggot, sah?”
Scutram had a pygmy shrew by the scruff of its neck. It wriggled and kicked furiously, striking out at him with a huge megaphone fashioned from birchbark. Captain Rake brought a halt to its struggles by placing a claymore point to its tubby little stomach.
“Be still, ye wee ruffian, or Ah’ll carve a bit o’ the blubber from ye. Be still, Ah say!”
Scutram placed the pygmy shrew next to the small sand lizard. He upturned the megaphone and slammed it down, imprisoning both creatures beneath it.
Buff Redspore smiled sheepishly. “So that’s all it jolly well was—a couple o’ bloomin’ runts, eh, wot!”
Always on the alert, Miggory spoke out the side of his mouth to the tracker. “There’s more’n h’a couple o’ runts marm, look around ye.”
The dunes were crowded from top to bottom with sand lizards and pygmy shrews, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. The shrews were armed with bundles of what seemed to be reed javelins. Most of the lizards carried thin slings or spears tipped with pieces of broken shell.
Buff Redspore inched closer to Sergeant Miggory, gazing fearfully around. “There must be a horde of the blinkin’ little fiends. What do we jolly well do now?”
Rake Nightfur sheathed both claymores, spreading his paws wide in a gesture of peace. He addressed the lizards and shrews in a cordial tone. “Mah friends, we mean ye no harm. Och, we’re only passin’ through here, on the way tae the north.”
An aged pygmy shrew came forth to speak. He was dressed in a woven grass tabard and carried a carved driftwood stick. His manner was terse.
“Ye have no permission to pass through that barrier of spears. Why did ye not make a request?”
Scutram could tell by Rake’s erect ears that he was not about to put up with the old one’s attitude. Sidling past the tall, dark captain, he remarked casually, “Sah, if you’ll allow me, a touch of the jolly old diplomacy mightn’t be out o’ place, wot?”
Rake stepped aside. “Aye, carry on, Lieutenant. Buff, Sage, retreat guid an’ slow now, then get ye back tae the column an’ bring them here on the double, ye ken.”
As Buff and Sage backed slowly away, Scutram smiled disarmingly. “Apologies for our clumsiness, sire, but there didn’t seem t’be any of your chaps about to, ah, put in our request to pass through your domain.”
A sharp little voice rang out from a dunetop. “It’s my domain, not his! Me, Empraking Dibby Drampik! Hah, you should’ve asked me!”
A half dozen sand lizards scuttled to his side. They were towing a moss-cushioned chair, which slid along on broad, flat runners. The empraking sat on it, waving the lizards to proceed. They set the chair in motion downhill, jumping hastily onto the runners and standing to attention. Despite the comical idea of an armchair sliding down the duneside, the empraking retained his regal dignity. His retainers steered the chair-cum-sled to a smooth halt in front of the hares. He did not alight until several attendants dressed him in a colourful woven cloak and a ridiculously tall crown adorned with seashells, dried flowers and small bird feathers. A ceremonial mace, topped with a polished agate, completed the ensemble. He peered shortsightedly up at Scutram.
“I’m the one you ask! I’m emperor round here—king, too, an’ ruling Bloodripper! So, what d’ye want? Speak out.”